“Abilities?”
“One hundred archers, the rest blades.”
Fel’annár nodded, tilted his head back for a moment.
No one spoke, but everyone watched the play of light in his eyes.
“Idernon,” said Fel’annár at last, “did you see any Kah Warriors at Analei?”
“Gor’sadén said he recognised one at least.”
“And then Farón. Not enough for what they say …”
“Who? Who says what?” Dalú stepped forward.
“The trees, Captain. They speak of a host of Kah Warriors.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is. We know the Alpine warriors at the Inner City Barracks are not Kah Warriors. This host is something new, something Band’orán thought he could hide from me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Dalú, shaking his head.
“I know, Dalú. Now listen carefully. This host of Kah Warriors is not out here on the plain. Wherever they are, they are hidden out of sight, yet they are near. And if they are hidden, we must assume that they have no horses. The question is, where could such a host hide itself?”
“The Dark Road!” said Sontúr. “The Dark Road which Commander Pan’assár spoke of.”
“Yes, you’re right. But he didn’t say where it was,” said Idernon.
“No, he would be under oath not to. Still, it is most certainly a tunnel of some sort, with more than one entry and exit point,” said Sontúr.
“But that could mean that they are already inside the walls,” said Dalú.
A stunned sort of silence ensued, until Fel’annár broke it. “They won’t have horses if they’re in a tunnel, but presumably they will have archers, possibly short bows. Captain, we need long bows, arrows—plenty of them—and we need shields. Do we have them?”
“We do, lord.”
“We ride to the gates and wait for a sign, or perhaps the call of the Ashorn. Until we know what is happening inside, we must not intervene. Dalú, make us ready for arrows, for the charge on foot, for defence at the gates. If they do not have horses, then we will not sacrifice our own. And if it does come to battle inside the gates, they will be more of a danger than an asset. But heed me: if those warriors are Kah, they will be hard to bring down. I suggest units of two to three warriors for each of them.”
“How many are there?”
Fel’annár shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think they are below ground, then? If you can’t sense them?”
He turned to Idernon, nodding slowly. “It makes sense, yes.”
“Sontúr, you have something similar in Tar’eastór?”
“We do.”
Idernon’s eyes raked the land around them, settled on the only building outside the gates that he could see, almost shielded by the trees.
“How long could those tunnels be? Long enough to connect them say with that building there?”
“Easily.”
“That is the Outer City Barracks …” said Dalú.
“If they are underground, there is little other explanation for it, save for what lies behind the city,” said Idernon.
“That is the Evergreen Wood. No buildings, Idernon,” said Dalú.
“It is a supposition,” began Fel’annár, “but it is a likely one. This host I sense may be at the Outer City Barracks, entering the city from there, undetected. Which means that there will be no help, no back up, and there are far more traitors than we had ever anticipated.”
“And the king? If it was his intention to enter the city that way …” said Idernon.
“We must trust to hope that they will realise. Dark Roads have many doors, Idernon,” explained Sontúr.
“Lord, your armour awaits, and we would offer appropriate attire for The Company,” said Dalú.
Sontúr’s eyes lingered on the Silvan warriors, their strange attire. He leaned forward and whispered in Fel’annár’s ear. “I am not wearing a skirt.”
Fel’annár smothered his grin, then stifled a cough as he turned back to Dalú. “You have our thanks, Captain. We must be ready in less than an hour. These are your lieutenants?”
“They are, Lord. Angon you already know. These here are Salo and Henu.”
Fel’annár nodded. “Alright. But know that The Company answers to me.”
Dalú and the lieutenants nodded their understanding and left the tent, Fel’annár and The Company behind. Angon gestured to them to follow him, while Amareth stood close by, beckoning to him. Idernon caught Tensári’s gaze. She nodded back at him. She would not be caught unawares a second time and she followed Fel’annár, to wherever Amareth led them.
She had heard little of what happened during his captivity, after Farón’s treachery, but her vision and imagination filled at least some of the gaps. This would be his life now, she mused. A life of service and hardship, one she had helped prepare him for, sometimes ruthlessly. Emotion welled in her chest, but she quelled it, as she had so many times before.
“Come, Warlord.”
As the Royal Council was about to begin, Pan’assár sat in the largest chair at the Inner Circle.
One hundred and one captains, eight of which were Silvan. But they were not present. Some had been deployed into the forest, while others had simply gone to the Silvan encampment, wagered Pan’assár. He had seen Dalú there.
Turion and Rinon were at the Council, had delegated their votes to Pan’assár. He had presented their letters to the clerks, who had duly noted the fact. Everything was recorded at the Inner Circle. Every order, every death, every commendation. He watched as they registered the document, gave it a number, assigned a drawer, a room where it would be stored.
Harahon or Dinor? No. Or’Talán had not been wrong. He had always known where his captains were.
Pan’assár pursed his lips. Turion’s concerns were distracting him from the proceedings that would commence in just minutes. Not that the outcome was a mystery to him. But he would have his say, at least. After today, Huren would surely flaunt his own candidature for Commander General, and Pan’assár would not be shoved aside easily. Huren was under suspicion, and a plan began to form in his mind.
He nodded, saluted, played the part as the other captains sat and settled. But all the while, his mind was digging deeper, making connections, understanding consequences.
His eyes drifted to Dinor, watched as he spoke to a fellow captain. Cold and conceited, unconcerned with the outcome of the vote, confident in its result.
Dinor was, perhaps, the only one who could clarify Or’Talán’s words, and Pan’assár wondered if he should just ask him.
Sometimes, things were much simpler than they seemed.
Fel’annár had washed quickly, and then eaten the food that had been left for him. In nothing but underwear, Fel’annár wandered to the table that occupied the centre of Amareth’s tent. His eyes were first drawn to the grey sash of a Kah Warrior. He frowned, and then he realised. They must have found the chest he had concealed in the forest, the day they had been forced to separate. His journal would be somewhere, and Handir’s crown, he mused.